I turned 58 years old on April 7, 2022. There was absolutely nothing I could do about it if I wanted to keep living. I was simply not given a choice in the matter.
If I stop to think about it too long, I will panic. Because with every passing year I get closer to the day I will exit my body. I get panicky, not because I’m afraid to die. Well, I am a little, but aren’t we all? I panic because I’m running out of time to do all the things I want to do.
My beloved and I got engaged this year, and we are building a home on a little piece of property I inherited from Daddy. Our contractor assured us it would be ready for us to move in by Thanksgiving. We walked the property today and were discussing all the things that needed to be done. It was a bit overwhelming. I took a little pause and said, “we just have to make that part of the five year plan, and concentrate on one thing at a time.”
Being married to him and living on this spot have been two of my three most important wishes for 2022 (also 2020 and 2021), and it looks like they just may come true.
When I blew out the candle on my birthday cake, I repeated the third wish. I hope it will come true in 2022, but if not, according to Meatloaf, “two out of three ain’t bad.”
My old Pastor, Dr. Don Duvall, once told me that life wasn’t a problem to be solved. There was no solution to life. He also said problems were only problems if they had a solution, otherwise, they were just life.
Since I have found no solution to birthdays, I guess they are just life. The passing of time happens without my permission or planning. The accoutrements that come with 58 years are also just life; the skin wrinkles regardless of the potions applied, the eyesight dims despite the carrots eaten, the lower back still creaks a bit even after the hundreds of yoga classes taken, and the southern migration of everything on my body continues without a “by your leave.”
But, at 58 I am finally comfortable in my own skin. I know the Universe has my back and everything is already OK. At 58, I am not overly concerned with appearance, either physical or socially. I do not care to keep up with the Joneses. I go to bed early and rise early. I do the best I can to eat well and move the old bones regularly without being a maniac about it.
At 58, I will marry the love of my life, and build our dream home with just enough space for the two of us, our dogs, and all my books.
At 58, I may just achieve that third dream, but then again, it may have to be part of that five year plan.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen one before.
Something new in my 58th year.
